Blind
by shortcircuitify
Summary: The Dragonborn loses her sight. A steady, sweet story. F!DB/Ulfric, F!DB/Vilkas
**\- Blind: A Slow and Steady Tale -**

She does not lose her sight like a warrior. Like she should. It is not lost to an ice wraith's ill-timed spikes piercing her; it is not burned from a rogue mage's firey hands and it is not lost from the quick poke of a dagger. Once day she simply wakes and sees nothing.

Anya first believes it is from the darkness of the morning. She waits for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cold, stone bedchamber, but once the sun does not permeate through the window as it should, like on every other winter morning, her stomach twists uncomfortably. She blinks rapidly but it does nothing except make her eyes water slightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. The dark still surrounds her, engulfing her, and she quickly decides to stand up and light some candles to see what the problem with this morning is.

Except when she raises her arms, she cannot see her own hands inches from her face. Claustrophobia sets in and she hyperventilates in the span of a few seconds. No, _no, no, no_ , her mind cannot function but she understands she is panicking and she reaches out to where she believes Ulfric is sleeping but instead finds cold furs under her fingers. It feels weird that her eyes are wide open but she does not see anything, cannot see the imprint she is sure his form left in their sheets.

And of course he is not in bed – he is always up at all times of the night, and early into the morning. Insomnia, he claims. She thinks to yell for him, for him to come help her and figure out what is going on, but she quickly questions her strange rationality and oddly clear mind. She cannot see – her body feels ready to hurl and yet her mind questions where Ulfric could be at a time like this.

This must be some sick joke pulled by one of the Daedra she has foiled while still on her journey to save the world – one of the ones that would scorn her, perhaps Sanguine or Sheogorath. She does not realize she is screaming until one of the maids of the Palace of the Kings is roughly grabbing her arms and questioning what is wrong.

Anya feels the tears streaming down her face and she – as calmly as she can because if she is to become Queen one day then she needs to _not_ scream at all hours of the day – tells the maid, Liri, that she in fact cannot see a thing in front of her face.

She hears Liri's sharp intake of breath, and her promise to return as quickly as she can with a healer – and Ulfric, of course. Anya nods and stays still. She is afraid that if she moves she will fall off the bed and get a bruised butt to go with her blindness. That the darkness will swallow her whole.

The gravity of her situation rises once again with the silence surrounding her. If she is blind – her stomach roils again – then, _then_ –

She hyperventilates, and it feels too long when Ulfric finally storms through their bedroom and takes her in his arms, asking her if she is alright and kissing her forehead. She wants to say _no, she is not alright because she cannot see him,_ but instead she whimpers out what she told Liri. He sits her down in his lap, and his calloused hands on her arms ground her. No, this must be some mistake. She must have sustained too many injuries during the Civil War, used her voice too much, and now her body was catching up with her. Wuunferth would give her a look over, hand her a foul tasting potion, and she would be good as new.

Wuunferth approaches her, she hears his footsteps, and Ulfric minutely tightens his grip on her. She feels tiny compared to his large form, and flinches when Wuunferth puts his hand under her chin, tilting her gaze upwards. Her instincts hiss because she cannot see him approach: dangerous.

Wuunferth, pragmatic and not very talkative, hums in his throat instead of easing the panic that is slowly rising in Anya's gut. He removes his hand, and tells her he needs to examine her more closely. In a billowing of furs and blankets, Ulfric has her wrapped in a fluffy robe to fight against the Palace's cold chill, and is guiding her towards Wuunferth's laboratory. Her feet feel clumsy and huge. She trips twice down the straight hallway.

After having her eyes examined and her lids pulled up and away one too many times, she hears Wuunferth give a weary sigh. A chair creaks, Ulfric's arm around her.

"I'm sorry, Anya," his voice is rough from disuse, "You will not be regaining your sight anytime soon." He goes into an explanation about possible causes, and how no treatment would solve her case, but the blood pounding in her ears blocks out his ramblings.

She distinctly feels Ulfric's arm pull away from her shoulders. She is so cold. There is an agony in her that she cannot voice with words, and she sits quietly.

 **…**

 **/**

She learns many things in her first month of being blind, none of them having to do with her being blind. She learns – to her disappointment – that her sight defined very much of who she was - and no longer is.

She first learns that she is good for nothing without her sight. She grows restless lying around all day the first week. Ulfric has not permitted her to leave the castle grounds, which translates to having Wuunferth following her every step, not allowing her past her bedroom door most days. She mostly sits and stares at nothing, willing the tears in her eyes to not well and overflow. She is strong, she is not supposed to cry, she tells herself.

Wuunferth reads out loud to her sometimes, but his voice is sour and sharp and he reads literature about spells and alchemy – two subjects she is not very interested in. But she listens anyway, because Ulfric has not been much company to her as of late and she would rather sit with the old Wizard than all alone.

She cannot fight, and she has never learned how to do simple house chores, orphaned when she was. She is useless in that regard but that is what she must learn to do, because they are much simpler than brandishing a weapon or her inner voice, and the days have become fretfully boring. She feels trapped and horrid, so when Liri offers to teach her how to wash laundry and scrub floors she accepts immediately. But the menial tasks she learn are still difficult for someone who imagines opening their eyes and seeing the world around them in all its glory, so she wears Liri's patience thin when she continues dropping and breaking plates and cups.

It is disheartening when she awakes in the morning and cannot brush her own hair, or lead herself to the bathing chamber for her daily ablutions. The only thing she is grateful for is that she does not have to see Liri's no doubt sharp look of pity. But she is sweet and kind, and Anya is grateful that of anyone, she is the one to see her at her lowest.

But soon all of it is not enough for the Dragonborn. She is a warrior – has not always been one, but has trained into the form of one to fulfill her duty to her country. She has defeated Miraak, fought the Empire for her own country, and has claimed the heart of Ulfric Stormcloak – or, at least her place at his side, she amends. The promise of marriage. She grows restless even with the small chores Liri offers to her, and thirsts to be out in the open air of Skyrim, not simply on a balcony overlooking the sea of Windhelm.

So one night, a fortnight since she has lost her vision, she asks Ulfric to allow her to train with the soldiers. He would be close by, she explains, while she at least would try wielding a dagger against one of the practice dummies. She does not mention it, but notices how he now sleeps as far away from her as possible, feels the cold where his heat once was. She hopes it will pass, that he will return to her, because she is certain ( _certain?_ ) that her love for him endures. She can almost see the glare on his face, wants to see it even, and his resounding "No," bounces off the stone walls. She cannot fathom why he does not want her to fight – isn't that the whole reason he is enamoured with her? Wants her to be his Queen – the power she holds in her sword and in her voice?

For a moment she forgets her request, and asks quietly, "Can I feel your face, please? I don't – I want to remember your face, what you look like." She hears no response, and reaches out in his direction. He gently grasps her hand and pulls it away from his face, to her side. A rare touch nowadays.

She is a shell, she decides. She feels blank and empty.

Finally, when Liri has reached the end of her patience and is tired of Anya's moping because this is not the same woman who came storming into the Castle, face fresh and pink from the cold, demanding to join Ulfric's army because she was the damn best fighter in Skyirm, she snaps. Liri remembers that day fondly, because the Castle was nothing if not bleak before Anya arrived. Now close friends, spending their days doing chores and speaking softly, Liri barks at Anya without a second thought to pick her breeches up and make her own decisions, because Ulfric does not own her and she was a woman and a fighter before he came into her life.

Anya pauses in scrubbing the dish in her hand.

She _is_ her own woman, and she does not remember when she became Ulfric's lapdog, but she refuses to continue following his orders like a child to their parent. He is cruel to her, teasing her with affection and promises that one day he will be hers and hers alone, and Skyrim will be her domain, but they have fallen empty and he has – in her eyes – abandoned her for the moment. She has cried too many tears over her vision and Ulfric's callousness over the past month to cry anymore, so instead she leaves Liri (who whoops heartily at her friend's renewed vigor) in the kitchen and searches for one of Ulfric's Stormcloak soldiers to damn well give her a dagger and let her fight a godsdamn _dummy_ for once _._ She feels restless and useless and angry at herself for allowing his control of her to go so far, and wants nothing more than the straw of a mannequin to break under her unrelenting force.

She knows her way around the castle well enough to seek out the grand hall where Ulfric parades himself around and shouts out for a guard to relieve her of her bedrest. She is eagerly surprised when the clinking of armor makes itself known and a guard approaches her. She explains (demands) that she be allowed to practice her sword arm and he willingly escorts her to the training ground. He gives her a dagger, small and economical so she won't hurt herself or she supposes, him. He leads her to the dummy and then helps her step away from it enough to know where it is and get into a comfortable fighting stance. She stands ready to spring, and at the guard's call that he is far enough from potential danger, she pounces.

She trips, falls, and smacks her head into the dummy. Before anyone can come and help her, she stands up again, only to miss the dummy's arm with her dagger and whack her own into its wooden surface. She hisses but holds back her cry of pain because she is strong and she is a warrior and _she will not have this_ , but she fumbles so many times and injures and bruises herself too much that she ends up sinking to her knees, silent tears streaking down her face.

She is unsure if they are from the physical pain or of her quiet defeat. She is no longer the slayer of Alduin - she is the limp doll of Ulfric Stormcloak. Perhaps he had realized from the beginning she was broken, not worth trying to fix, and so he refused to help her train. Her face twists.

She hears the guard shifting nervously behind her, unsure if he should approach her or not. She vows that she will have Anya teach her how to tie her own dresses in the coming weeks, so she can at least learn how to do something properly.

 **…**

 **/**

At the end of that same month, Vilkas comes to visit her, as he does at the end of every month.

Long before she had met Ulfric or defeated Alduin, she had found her way into Whiterun and had joined the Companions. Her best friends, she would call them now. They were the ones to help her, train her, and give her hope about her growing Voice and the burden of the world on her shoulders and the need for a savior. (She will never tell them, but Ria is her favorite because she can bake the best cakes.)

Vilkas had loathed her at first, as he had hated all of the Companions' he had not grown up with, at first. But, slowly, they grew an easy camaraderie through the jobs they took together, where they told each other jokes and worries and secrets. They had fought together, been wolves together, and cleansed themselves together. Her truest confidant and easiest smile. She had missed him the most when Alduin loomed over her shoulders and she had to leave to fulfill her duty, and even more so when the Civil War broke out and she went to campaign with the Stormcloaks. She had asked him to come with her, but he had refused, and her eyes shiny with tears, she had left Whiterun, not to see him for another year as she became the Stormblade. It was hard, missing her closest friend when she was sieging the same town he lived in, but she was glad he did not join the fighting on either side. He was not a political man, and with the title of Harbinger hanging over his head, he had to keep his Companions steady during the unsettling tides of war. It was better that way.

It would have broken her heart to have to fight him. She would have probably surrendered there and then; the easy way they spoke to each other, their friendly cadence, the way she could tell him anything and he would not berate her, just listen and hum in response. It was more precious to her than anything. His grey eyes of steel.

She had not seen him until the war ended, and by then she was enamoured with Ulfric Stormcloak, pulled to him and the Palace of the Kings where she took up permanent residence – specifically in Ulfric's bed. She had sent him a letter, too short for their time apart and all they had both endured, and he had vowed to visit. He visited her in the stoney walls she had decided to call her own, and had begged her to come back to Whiterun with him – to come _home._ His eyes were searching and lost and there was something hidden in their depths, and although she was tempted to return, there was a country to rebuild, and Ulfric had told her she would be at the front lines to make Skyrim, _Skyrim_ again.

He had looked at her with sad and longing eyes after she had spoken about Ulfric, the spark of passion and love in her eyes. He did not press her, but she could see the droop in his shoulders when he knew she would not be returning. They had vowed that instead, he would visit her on the end of every month, to speak of their lives and their futures and everything in between, such as today.

This would be the first time she would not see his face – his captivating eyes, his surprisingly warm smile. She mourns the loss as she hears his footsteps approaching the balcony that has – in a way – become _their_ balcony, where they always meet with a hot cup of tea and warm bread. A little piece of the world just for them. She never shares this space with Ulfric, not that he had ever asked. She hears him abruptly stop, "Hello, Vilk," She calls to him, afraid to turn her head and for him to see the vacant look in her eyes. Perhaps she would not look at his face at all – stare at his chest - and that would make it all the more awkward.

He smooths his hand over her shoulder blade, lightly flicking one of her chocolate curls, before sitting down next to her, the chair creaking in disapproval. She still does not look at him.

Despite her trepidation, she is ecstatic to be with her dearest friend once again. She and Ulfric have not gotten along smoothly since her vision faded, and although her mind tells her that he seeks only power – the gravity the name Dovahkiin carries - her heart argues and she feels torn. Vilkas's mere presence brings her a sense of peace.

"Hello, Anny," that deep, deep, voice she remembers. Not rough, smooth. "Are you alright?" He asked, noticing her pointed stare at the ocean before them.

She turns to him, breathing shaky, and he stares at the milky-blue pupils that were not there the last time he had visited. She does not even look properly into his face, staring someplace past his ear, and he immediately recognises the reason her shoulders are stiff, neck weary. He is shocked for a moment, unsure about what to say or do at this revelation. His heart thumps. He reaches for her, but drops his arm, hesitant. She continues trying to stare at him, trying to pinpoint where his face and eyes are in the darkness of space.

"I don't – I can't –" she stutters, weary of his silence.

"Anya," his voice is full of pity, and it is exactly what she didn't want. She does not need pity, she does not need remorse, but she needs a shoulder to lie on or an arm to wrap around her middle, like Ulfric used to do. She used to be so warm, she thinks.

She blinks back the tears that threaten to spill once again, and he is immediately by her side, cupping her cheek in his calloused hand that is so different from Ulfric. She is reminded too much of the King of Skyrim and yet not at all because this is _Vilkas,_ of course.

"I'm alright, promise," she whispers, and then explains to him the morning she awoke and saw nothing. He stays on his knees the entire time, between her legs, listening to her, holding her close. About her struggles, how she cannot battle anymore, and he sits on his knees and cups her face and listens. It is the intimacy she is craving, and she even tells him about Ulfric's distance and his refusal to touch her and how she feels tainted somehow.

She had never spoken to Vilkas about Ulfric after his first visit to the Palace – she has seen the tense line of his spine when she mentions his name, and so she has avoided the subject. But all her frustrations are spilling out of her and she feels like a leaking faucet but Vilkas does not stop her and listens and she only hopes that his face is not in a scowl or filled with pity because she just needs _him._ Stoic and warm and she needs him.

When she finishes rambling her cheeks are wet and she hopes that Vilkas has not somehow fallen asleep on his knees, but when he brushes her tears away she knows he is still with her, and a trail of warmth spreads from her stomach to her throat.

She almost expects him to tell her "I told you so," about Ulfric, but instead he stands up and takes her hands in his. She doesn't know where his face is anymore so she closes her eyes instead. He runs his thumb over her knuckles.

"Come back to the Companions, Anya," his voice is deep and smoothing, and she wants to shout at him.

"I can't fight anymore Vilkas, didn't you hear me? I-"

He cuts her off, soft but strong, "Not to fight. To be _home._ Please," despite being the scholar of the Companions, Vilkas has always been of few words, and she understands the implications perfectly. _Stop being miserable. Be with people who make you happy – be happy._

She purses her lips, uncertain. She could – but – oh…

"Let me think about it?" She asks timidly. She loves the idea but she has been living here for two years and she does not know if she can leave it all behind so quickly.

She assumes he nods, because he quickly laughs and corrects himself and tells her yes. She is happy he does not pull away just because she can't see the contours of his smile (although she misses it dearly). He pulls his chair close to hers so that he can keep a hold on her hands.

They speak for hours about everything and nothing – Vilkas tells her about the Companions and funny jobs and how Farkas and Aela and the bunch are doing, while she tells him how Wuunferth is more boring than Heimskr and that she cannot wash dishes for shite. She finds herself smiling and laughing, and she is lulled with the peace his companionship brings.

When he prepares to leave he kisses her on the cheek and presents his to her so she can find it and kiss it easily, but this time it does not feel like the friendly gesture they usually share. It feels more heated and full of promise and Anya does not know what to think when Liri comes to help her prepare for bed.

 **…**

 **/**

She soon decides Ulfric must think her stupid, and the thought makes her melancholy and angry all at the same time. A fortnight since Vilkas's visit - since mulling over joining the Companions again, and since her and Ulfric had irrevocably separated. A small part of her, for a fortnight, held onto the hope that they could still work things out, even though he was avoiding her and every time she spoke to him in bed (the only time he was near her anymore) he would ignore her. It hurt, hurt, _hurt_ , but she was persistent and stubborn and tried to speak to him any moment she could and learn where his heart lay – _truly_ lay. Because it occurred to her that she never really heard him say that he loved her, or that his heart was hers.

But Ulfric is stubborn, too, and now she does not know why she bothered to stay.

He lures her in with promises of dinner together, and once she is tipsy from the wine and flustered from the heated touches she has missed so much, he tells her – no, orders her – that her things shall be moved to the quarters across the hall from him. She is furious but then sedated when he massages her hips, and tells her that it will be easier for her if she keeps Liri close in case of an emergency (she wonders why he cannot be the one to help her), and she will still be close enough for him to feel secure.

Her jaw tightens, but she agrees. She has nowhere to go. The cold stone walls of the Palace are her home – and when she hears cries of pleasure from Ulfric's bedroom the very next night, she feels and knows her home has been tainted. She does not know why she has bothered with the insufferable bastard, if all her efforts have been for nought and Ulfric finds more pleasures from whores.

 _Her mind tells her that she has run out of usefulness._

Every night, he brings a different whore to his bed, and she knows, because although she cannot see, her hearing can tell the difference, and she hates that he still controls her heart in some way – tortures her with scenes she cannot see.

In the morning, her heart – whatever little part still held in his deadening grasp – gives in and she feels as icy as the King of Skyrim himself. She dresses herself (with Liri's help) and asks her to pen a note to Vilkas – a simple note, saying simply _yes_ – and to pack their bags for Whiterun. She dare not leave her dear friend in Ulfric's castle, and she confronts him about it before he can escape into the confines of his bed chamber. She will not leave in the dead of night like a coward – she still has some dignity left, and she clings to it.

Some part of her hopes that he will be in agony about hearing her leaving – he will cry and weep at her feet for her not to go, so she can stomp in his face and leave him with an ugly face and a broken heart.

Instead he grunts in understanding and tells her to wait a moment, voice dead and hollow, and returns to her minutes later, handing her two bags filled to the brim with gold, for her and Liri's journey.

Something in her breaks and cracks, and she shoves the coins back into Ulfric's face, making sure that they splatter and burn over him, and Liri does the same shortly after she hears the commotion. It occurs to her that the only reason he had not shunned her completely and kicked her out of the Palace was due to her status as the saviour of the world; he would not want angry mobs at his door, after all.

And she cannot believe that she had loved the man that payed her as if she was another common slag, and some part of her wishes that Vilkas had admonished her for her decision in men so long ago. Maybe then she could see earlier that all she really was, was a placeholder in his mantelpiece.

But Vilkas is too caring, too nurturing so he did not. He writes back that he will be there within the week, and Anya and Liri move and share a tiny room (used for storage) as far away from Ulfric as they can get, camping out in that tiny room and waiting for their savior to arrive. Anya tells her stories about how unsatisfying Ulfric is in bed, and Liri snorts and laughs and Anya can't help but join her.

And when he comes for them on a carriage, helping her every step from the Palace to the wooden seat beneath her, she already feels better. She feels that the offer of Queen is no longer in her sights, but she does not care, and feels no remorse for the slab of ice that she once thought she loved.

(Although her heart still hurts just a smidge, but she is the Dragonborn and she is strong and _oh_ she will make it through this.)

 **…**

 **/**

Ulfric's betrayal still stings her a bit, his easy rejection, but Vilkas speaks for almost all of the journey on the carriage and her mind is distracted for a moment. She feels in her bones that he may have never truly loved her – or did, for a short infatuation - that slowly oozed away with his rise to King and her loss of usefulness. Her heart still aches.

Liri snorts at a joke Vilkas tells (probably at Farkas's expense) when she is not paying attention, and she feels the flutter of his hand on her arm. She is sad she missed it, but soon she smells mammoth dung on the horizon and knows she'll be in Whiterun soon and she can't help the smile splitting her face.

She feels so _free!_ Ulfric dissipates from her mind almost instantly, and she is uncertain if she is disturbed or happy about it. Almost two months since she had properly been outside, outside of the mouldy and dingy Palace and into the wide open plains of Skyrim. She hears Vilkas chuckle lightly, and say, "See? You are feeling better already!"

And she hates to admit it but she does anyway, because she _is_ feeling better – much, much better. She did not realize how constraining Ulfric's grasp on her was until she was out of it – and she feels like she should be sad she is without her lover of two years, but she can't help but be happy and glow in the warm sun flitting across her face.

She quietly whispers to herself, as she hears Liri's cry of excitement at seeing Whiterun for the first time, "It was never love." It was power and control and lust, but never love. She doesn't really know what love is, but maybe it is how she feels about Skyrim's wilderness, or the hot chocolate she loves so much. Vilkas's soft nudge on her shoulder with his own tells her he heard, but she does not care. It is a relief, almost, that he knows.

All she knows now is that she wants to live her life to the fullest. She no longer has obligations to the world, to rebuilding Skyrim or to Ulfric or to _anybody,_ and she wants to smile and tell jokes and live without constraints again. And she _will_ do it, with Vilkas and Farkas and Aela and Liri – her heart swells with anticipation.

Vilkas guides her into the city and Liri follows closely behind, and he promises to pick up their bags once they are both settled. She hears Liri's gasps and awes – the maid had never left Windhelm, and the open grassy plains and warm people excite and surprise her.

"Are you sure this is still Skyrim?" She asks openly, and Anya smiles because Liri already sounds happier than she ever did washing clothes. Vilkas points out to her the different buildings, while trying to orientate Anya in a way so that she knows which building she is facing. She is unsure if people are staring at the blind woman hobbling around the streets with a Companion, but she can't make herself care.

Vilkas guides them the rest of the way to Jorrvaskr (careful on the steps), and Liri's excited exclamation that they are going to be living in a _boat_ is drowned out by the cheers and shouts from her Shield-Siblings, crowding around its entrance, trying to get a look at their old friend. Apparently Vilkas had told them about her arrival and although she cannot see their faces she feels relief that they are happy she is back, the worms of fear crawling in her stomach that they too would treat her like an invalid – cold and distant – are replaced by butterflies of nerves.

And then Farkas is pulling her up into a giant hug and Aela is berating her for not visiting and tears are pouring down her face because she did not realize how much she has missed everyone.

"I can't see you," she whimpers, because she wants to see Aela's light scowl and Torvar's glazed eyes and she _can't,_ but Farkas smooths her hair down and Vilkas coos that it is alright and it is more warmth than she had ever thought she needed, but she has needed it _so much_.

Instead of bothering to guide her into the boat, Vilkas picks her up in his arms and the rest of the Companions cheer that she is back, leading her to the massive dining table in the middle of the room. She feels the warmth of the fire on her face and Vilkas's strong presence by her side.

Anya hears Liri's quiet cough near the entrance to Jorrvaskr, and realizes that she must not have been invited to sit with the rest of them for dinner, leaving her standing by the entrance. The Companions are warm and friendly, but they are nothing if not a little dense. She calls to the former maid, who stutters when Farkas asks for her name, and Anya hears her quiet footsteps approach the dining table when Torvar calls her over to dine.

"So, are you better one-handed or two-handed?" Torvar leers to Liri, the innuendo obvious and untasteful, and Anya laughs when she hears the smack of palm to skin. (Liri must be sitting beside the drunk, putting her at the perfect distance to smack him in the face or arm.) But after that she flows into the conversation like she has always belonged there, and Anya is content to sit and listen while Liri berates Torvar for his hygiene.

She feels better than she has for the last month, but that would be a lie because she feels better than she has in two years. She leans her head on Vilkas's shoulder in appreciation, and he accepts it by laying his cheek on her head in a surprising display of affection.

Ale flows freely until Anya's yawning has become a frequent reminder of the soreness in her limbs from riding a carriage all day, and she gratefully accepts when Vilkas escorts her down the stairs to the sleeping chambers. She gives everyone a quick kiss on the cheek – a quick show of the happiness she feels from their acceptance and open arms even though she cannot fight with them and will never truly be a Companion again – and whispers in Liri's ear to watch herself around the blond she has obviously started to flirt with at some point in the night. Liri pinches her hip in retaliation.

She expects Vilkas to lead her – hand holding the crook of her elbow – to the whelp's room which is obviously straight across the stairs. But when he pulls her in the direction of the true living quarters, she becomes uncomfortable. He leads her straight to his room – the Harbinger's room – and her cheeks flush uncontrollably. Will he – is it – um…

He must see the pink on her cheeks from where her thoughts are straying, and lets go of her elbow. She misses the soothing circles he drew there with his thumb.

"Ria has my old room. You should see how smitten her and Farkas are," he muses quietly, "It won't be long until she and him finally admit it to themselves and share a bed, and Njada and Athis will be fighting over the empty room again," he chuckles. They pause in silent remembrance of Skjor, and how his room is kept untouched in his memory (and for Aela). Then, almost awkwardly, "You will have this room, Anny, and I will sleep with the whelps." Straight to the point, as always. She usually likes it, but not now, not when she can tell there are words unspoken on his lips and she cannot see his eyes to grasp the meaning behind his words. She reaches out for him and – thankfully – grasps his arm in her hand. He is so strong.

"No! I couldn't do that – I am not incompetent, you know, and –" He cuts her off by pulling her into a quick hug, and although she is still frustrated because Vilkas _doesn't deserve_ sleeping with the whelps, she accepts the warmth of his hug.

"You deserve this, Anny. You deserve to rest and feel warm. Take it," he whispers in her ear, a demand. She burrows herself in his arms for a moment, and wills tears of happiness not to spring from her eyes. She swears she has never cried this much in her entire life.

She tells him thank you, and he tells her to get rest, kissing her on the cheek when he turns to leave. She feels the smile on his lips when he does so. Probably because she didn't fight as much as she usually would – a small victory for the stubborn man.

She undresses herself (Liri has taught her how), and settles into the warm blankets and furs of Vilkas's bed. It smells like him – pine and mint and a hint of sweat. She sighs, content.

She thinks of Vilkas – of his kind words and his sweet presence, and her cheeks flush. He is the opposite of Ulfric – understanding where he is domineering, companionship where he is power, warmth where he was always a little bit too icy.

She closes her eyes and everything is still dark, and she reminds herself that she has just ended a relationship with a man she has thought she loved for two years, and questions herself. Questions her sudden well of emotions for her long-time companion and friend. She hopes that it is not because of Ulfric's cold presence, not just that Vilkas provides the warmth she needs, because it feels like so much more than that. She does not sleep much.

 **…**

 **/**

Ulfric never sends for her, or writes her a letter. She, in a way, likes it. The months pass in lazy contentment at Jorrvaskr for Anya, not like the days that passed like slowly thawing ice in the Palace of the Kings.

True to his word, Farkas and Ria do eventually start rooming together – _just to save space_ , they claim, though nobody believes them - specifically in Farkas's room because although they do not drink like Torvar, Ria finds an appreciation for the bar he keeps there. She and Vilkas make bets about who will win the now empty room – Njada or Athis – but it surprises them both when Torvar beats them for the room.

He becomes surprisingly sober over the months since Anya's return, and Vilkas surmises that it must have helped him hone his skills to beat both the Dunmer and his angry female counterpart. Anya asks Vilkas if Liri has anything to do with his sobriety, and he heartily laughs and tells her yes, he believes it does.

"He isn't be able to handle her spitfire mouth while he's drunk, I think," and she can hear the smirk in his voice when he whispers in her ear, to make sure Liri doesn't hear him.

Whenever Anya asks her friend about it, however, she tells her to sod off with her questions. Anya only laughs gently when Vilkas tells her that every night Liri sneaks into Torvar's room like some sort of sneak thief, but that she is not very good at it. It does not take long for them to make it official (even though it is unnecessary since by now everyone already knows) and for the Companions to celebrate by throwing one of their famous, hearty dinners that leaves everyone with aching bellies and aching heads in the morning.

Anya muses at the stubborn nature of the Companions, and how their romances follow suite.

She does not fight because she cannot, but there is so much more to do here – not boring chores or listening to boring books by Ulfric's command – like gardening and listening to her friends fight each other in matches of strength while she collects bets on who will win (she always bets for Vilkas), and simply washing lettuce for dinner to help Liri and Tilma, or listening to Eorlund about days long past.

Her days feel whole and content and boring in the best kind of way. She does not think about Ulfric at all, and the ache she once felt the day she left her icy prison is long gone. There is no room for it when she is so happy.

She is not constrained to Jorrvaskr – the Companions, when they are not on jobs, take her out to the field surrounding Whiterun where she can run across the grassy plains without any worries (specifically about injuring herself) and breathe in the crisp air of Skyrim. It is mostly Vilkas who takes her, but occasionally Aela or Ria will as well. Her cheeks are always flushed when they return to Jorrvaskr for the night, giggling with happy laughter, and Vilkas joins in with her.

Liri is too busy helping Tilma keep the boat-house up and running, but she never complains and finds the work enjoyable.

Her evenings, however, are her favorite part of the day. She and Vilkas spend the evenings huddled up on her – _his_ \- bed, where he tells her about what she could not see for herself – for example, Athis wiping a dribble of mead from the corner of Njada's mouth, and her resulting angry blush – and reads her stories about anything and everything (mostly about the Companions' history, but she loves it all the same). His voice is rich and deep, and sometimes sleepy, and she always asks him questions about the books and about the universe and stars until they both want to pass out from exhaustion.

Her least favorite part of the day is when Vilkas leaves to sleep in the whelp's room. He kisses her on the cheek, unwraps himself from her searching arms and leaves and she feels so cold after.

It does not take long for Liri to start teasing her about Vilkas in retaliation for her own teasing about Torvar, but she does not angrily hiss at her friend as Liri once did to her. Instead she tells her about their easy nights together, and about everything Vilkas is that she needs and wants, and how she feels so content even if they will never _be_ together, because it is enough. Liri stays quiet after that, but holds Anya's hand in understanding. She smiles.

"Why don't you tell him? Or perhaps just kiss him on the mouth next time he's in your bed, I'm sure the message would be clear then," Liri snorts, "If only you could see his face, or, actually, his eyes. The way his eyes linger on you tells everyone – and I mean even _Farkas_ \- enough about how he feels."

Anya frowns, because there is the problem, "Vilkas is a warrior, and has always been a warrior. He deserves to have someone who can fight with him, be by his side while he fights draugur and wolves. I can't give him anything." She sighs wistfully.

"I think you've already given him enough," Liri replies, and Anya keeps extra close to Vilkas that night when he visits her. Perhaps he will find a woman who will be worthy of him one day, but for now, she is content to lay with him in her arms.

That night she forces herself to stay awake and ask questions until Vilkas is so exhausted that he cannot force himself to get up and leave her. He attempts to anyway, and she simply pushes him back onto her bed with a palm on his chest. He doesn't fight, and nuzzles her neck with his nose. She sighs, happy. She is certain that even if he wasn't exhausted, he might have stayed with her. (She hopes.)

"I'm so sorry I left this place," she is not sure if she is talking to Vilkas or herself, but his mumbled reply that he is just happy she is back is all the answer that she needs.

She wonders why her thoughts never took the obvious route of loving Vilkas. Perhaps she has always loved him, slowly and surely during the year she was the world-renowned Dragonborn and he was her constant companion, but she cannot be certain. What she is certain of now is that her feelings for Vilkas do not stem from Ulfric's rejection, and that he is everything to her now. She knows he has always been, always held a large piece of her heart not meant for anyone else. A refreshing year in his company has renewed her from the two she has spent wrapped in ice, and she hopes that she can spend many more where she is right now.

She prays to Akatosh that no warrior princess with amazing thighs and thick blonde hair and perfect vision will come and steal Vilkas away from her. (She was always a little bit selfish.)

 **…**

 **/**

Not every day is easy. In fact, most are still hard and even over a year without her sight cannot stop her from hyperventilating or feeling claustrophobic from time to time. It is the worst when she wakes up from sleeping and expects to see Vilkas's shining eyes or at least the roof over her head and there is darkness surrounding her. It takes her a year – a year since coming back to her true home - to be able to do all her daily ablutions herself, and half of the reason that she can is that she has memorized where the waste bucket seat is so she does not fall in.

She does not cry over her lost vision anymore, but her melancholy seeps into her daily activities. She forces herself to focus most days, forces herself to snap to attention and listen to Liri and Tilma bicker, and she feels slightly better.

It is not until a year and two months have passed that Vilkas asks her about her vision – not about how she functions, or if it is improving or worsening, but about how she feels losing her sight after so long. (She assumes that he was scared to ask before, to push on a subject she herself was trying to ignore. It is difficult to talk about, and some days she simply pretends she can see Athis and Ria before her very eyes – that she is not blind.)

He strokes her arm, his own wrapped around her shoulders while they share their customary chat before sleep, and she quietly whispers, "I feel worthless," into the darkness. Vilkas tenses beside her. She has never told anyone this before – has tried to persevere despite the darkness surrounding her and has kept to crying to herself about her obvious weakness. Because she is _strong_ , she tries to remind herself.

"I feel like I can't do anything anymore," she confides, "I feel like everyone pities me and doesn't actually care about me but just feels sorry that I can't see. For Mara's sake, I couldn't even pee by myself for four months!" She almost laughs hysterically, pulling away from him just a bit. The claustrophobia begins to set in again, "I can't fight anymore, and it feels like saving the world was the only thing I was good at, and I can't even pick up a dagger without pricking my finger. I _can't_. And I – I can't see your face and I can't see your smile and I feel unworthy of your attention-" She is spinning and can't stop the embarrassing words from spilling from her mouth but it feels good in a way. Like catharsis.

He silences her with a kiss on the lips. It is heated and warm and everything she has ever wanted but has never realized she needed until she lost her sight (and she feels guilty for waiting so long to realize it). His lips capture hers, and she whimpers against the intensity of it and he slips his tongue into her mouth and she tastes his spiciness and minty-ness and it is heaven.

He pulls back when there is no breath left between them, and she can almost see the satisfied smile on his lips, "I have always wanted to do that," he confesses quietly and she flushes even more than she already has. He burrows his face in her neck, leaving languid kisses down the column. The _things_ he can do to her amaze her. She imagines the intensity of his stare in her head, and she feels like it isn't enough, that she needs to see it, see the desperation in his eyes that matches her own.

"Even before… everything?" She means Ulfric and her vision and – and…

He chuckles and she can feel the pleasant vibrations in her throat, "Ever since you kicked my ass the day you demanded you be let into the Companions, _whelp."_ His voice is bright and happy and she hopes it is because of her.

Her throat tightens momentarily, "I'm sorry I didn't – and then I left and Ulfric and –"

He shushes her with another kiss, "The past is the past. I don't care," he tells her honestly, and she can't help the giggle that escapes her throat. Butterflies fill her stomach pleasantly and her head is ringing because she loves him so, so much and she loves his knowledge and rough but gentle hands and his voice and that he is surrounding her in warmth.

"Can I touch your face?" She has done it many times already – with all of the Companions – and has mapped the lines and grooves and dips in his skin, and it is more symbolic than anything else.

He reaches for her hand, rough callouses encompassing her own, and he pulls it towards his face, to his nose, and she maps his face all over again – the large, silly grin he is sporting on his face. "Everyone truly loves you, by the way. In case you were worried Farkas's bear hugs were all in jest."

"I love you. Really, I do," she whispers, almost desperately because she needs him to know, and the fierceness of his kiss is all the answer she needs. She has never openly told those words to anyone before, and he is the first one to ever enter her life that she wants to tell, and she never wants him to leave. He never returns to the Whelp's room, and she never leaves the Harbinger's.

It is a fitting arrangement, one that reoccurs in the nights to follow, and Vilkas shows his approval to her in many, _many_ different fashions throughout the rest of the night.

 **…**

 **/**

Liri fidgets with her dress again, Anya can hear it. If there is one thing that she is grateful for, it is for her improved hearing – Liri's anxiety is rolling off of her in waves.

As Tilma fixes up Anya's own dress – it is a pearly white, she is told – she snaps at Liri to stop fidgeting or she will ruin the braids Tilma has worked on all morning. A huff of frustration follows.

Liri approaches Anya, takes her hand in her own, and kisses it. She asks once again if she is fine with a joint wedding, because in her opinion Anya deserves her own wedding and a one-year honeymoon and perhaps a pet wolf to match because without her she wouldn't be here and she wouldn't have met Torvar and –

Anya smiles brilliantly in the direction of her friend who stops rambling, taking a deep breath.

"Of course! I want to be married next to my best friend," She tells her, honest and bright.

Liri snorts, "Well, that answers my question about how you feel about Vilkas, but thank you anyway," Anya whacks her playfully, and Liri scurries away from her flailing arms.

Tilma tuts and finally, _finally_ tells Anya that she is done and presentable. She smiles serenely, the joy she has come to enjoy feeling resting in the pit of her stomach awakening into a horde of butterflies once again.

Liri comes back, gives Anya her bouquet of mountain flowers and leads her arm in arm to the door facing Jorrvaskr's courtyard.

They had both wanted to have their weddings here, in Whiterun – at _home._ They nagged the Temple of Mara incessantly. They only ever did marriages in their hall dedicated to the patron saint of love, but Liri and Anya had insisted they allow them to have their wedding where they had found themselves again – found a home and love and acceptance. Finally, a priest of Mara had given in to their constant demands, but only for one day, unwilling to make the journey back for two weddings and so here they were – their wedding day. Together.

"You look beautiful," Liri whispers to her friend while Tilma goes to join the others waiting for the ceremony to begin, the day sunny and fresh.

"You do too, I know it," Anya replies, her voice filled with excitement and anticipation.

Two collective gasps from behind the brides make them turn around, and although she cannot see his face, she hopes that he finds her beautiful, his jaw dropped open at the sight of her in her flowing gown. She is already certain he is more handsome than he has ever been (although it is hard for her to believe – he is _always_ handsome).

She hears Torvar crying, rejoicing, and Liri starting to cry too, and then her admonishing him for making her ruin her kohl. Vilkas approaches her and takes her hand. She reaches her free hand up and feels his face, the wetness of his tears, and a few fall out of her own eyes as well.

"You are _stunning,"_ he chokes out, and she kisses him soundly and loops her arm through his. Her grin threatens to split her face in half she is so happy. Distantly she hears Liri and Torvar beside her preparing themselves to walk out of Jorrvaskr's back doors and to the ceremony that will bind them for life.

The walk is slow and steady, and both she and Vilkas are shaking slightly as he leads her down the aisle and to her future.

She muses that she will never see her children's faces. She will never see their smiles, and although Vilkas's silvery gaze is still bright in her memory, she knows she will never see the look on his face or in his eyes when she finally tells him she is pregnant - barely right now, but slowly growing. She will never see her child the first time he or she is brought into the world.

As Vilkas takes her arm in the crook of his elbow, and the ceremony begins, and she can hear Liri's heavy breathing, she thinks to herself that it will be enough. It has to be enough. It is enough.

 **Edited:** _June 11_ _th_ _, 2016_

 _Thank you all so much for the favorites and follows, and for ALL of the lovely reviews! Thank you to mia78, Guest, P, lady73, RealmStriderShadow, Lydia, and Manu for all of the reviews, I am so happy you guys enjoyed this story so much! I just made a few minor edits to make the story flow better/fix grammar and spelling errors :)_


End file.
